Heard from three friends today who are each driving out to Burning Man within the next 24 hours. Two out of three will place key in ignition after midnight; likely way-jacked-up on Red Bull and 500bpm trance mp3s, or some equally potent cocktail for scaring away sleep on the six+ hour drive. One packs a sousaphone. Another, a stepson. The third, his weight in explosives — enough firepower to earn him a Guantanamo one-way, were he to absentmindedly cram it in an airline carryon with a suspect sticker.
I won’t be following them. Not for lack of wanting. Miss the mess, just can’t this year. Another friend who wouldn’t be caught dead in glitter or elwire asked for words of advice to give his kid sister, a first-timer. IANAHCB (I Am Not A Hardcore Burner), or particularly clever. All I could come up with was this.
Do not drink the chocolate-marijuana absinthe. Do drink water until your gag reflex is triggered, then drink some more. Keep your hands off the bike seats on which sans culotte hippypersons have planted their naked nalgas. At least once, hit the Pancake Playhouse camp for breakfast, and raise gooey fingers in the air (“when soft rock is heard, pancakes will be served.”) Pack extra copies of your Burning Man Bingo card.
Don’t try to see or do everything, or think you’re going to be able to find specific friends at specific places at specific times — doesn’t work like that. Be cool. Be prepared. Avoid hurting yourself, or anyone else, or that wide, white, alkaline ocean of old dust. Enjoy.
The best lesson of this thing? Joy need not be deferred.
(Snapshot at left from a bunch I shot last year: Link. There are better photos shot by other people here: Link. Previous BoingBoing post — Book / This is Burning Man: Link. Thanks for the Burning Man Bingo reminder, kowgurl!)